


cold pizza

by ufos



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, spoilers sorta??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 22:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16627235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ufos/pseuds/ufos
Summary: a story about a guy who's just about as cool as leftover za (who even has leftover za anyway? i don't.)





	cold pizza

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badskeletonpuns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/gifts).



> another completely unreviewed (i'm sorry) story from mac "gad-y" macdonald. have fun. actually probably don't? this story is a lot like our friend bennyboy. short and sad.

He stepped outside, closing the door behind him, and slumping against the cold brick wall of the studio. The cold air hit him like a tidal wave devouring some coastal Japanese city in a disaster film, and filling his lungs, and stinging his face. Sammy could feel the tears freezing on his face, which, he had not known was a thing that could happen until he moved to King Falls. It was, and it hurt like hell. His lungs burned as if he had just run a mile, and he slid down the side of the building to sit on the icy concrete step. If he froze to death, he thought, it would be well deserved. After all, a cold and terrible death would be poetically appropriate for a man of such a cold and terrible disposition. 

He looked out across the parking lot, which was in a sordid state of disrepair, and did not stop himself from comparing himself to it. The pavement looked less and less like asphalt and more like the face of the moon every day, and the yellow lines had been almost completely rubbed off, making parking spaces unidentifiable. This wasn’t really much of a problem for most of the few people who used it, with the exception of the owner of a lime green firebird which was consistently and inexplicably parked in the very middle of the parking lot. It couldn’t have been even sort of a convenient place to put it, but there it was. The air outside was so foggy that the mountains could only be faintly seen through it. They looked less like actual mountains and more like someone had lightly stenciled the shape of mountains on the white morning sky and said called it a day mountain-rendering-wise.

He shoved his numbing hands into his pockets and curled into himself so his forehead touched his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut as if by doing this he could make the world stop. He felt like an idiot. An idiot supreme with extra terrible person sauce and a side of fucking coward.

Sammy was ripped from his pan-personal size pit of despair when he heard to station door open behind him. It was one of those really heavy doors with the push bar that stuck, so you’d have to throw your weight against it and pray you didn’t fall on your face when it gave way. The opener slammed himself against the door a couple times before it was persuaded to open and he stumbled out, trying to regain his footing.

Sammy heard someone sit down beside him, but didn’t look up. He didn’t have to, and he really really didn’t want Ben to see him cry again. That was something for him and his car in the side of the road rest area that overlooked town with the bench and the map and the weird stacked stone wall that smelled like piss, and sometimes Troy (with whom he had a promise of deputy-cryer confidentiality) if he couldn’t stop crying in time to tell him that he wasn’t a bunch of teenagers doing something illegal. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ben, because he did. He trusted him more than anyone in the world. But he felt like maybe if he burdened him with his feelings he might like him less. He didn’t want to bother him. The guy had to deal with enough already without having to hear about his stupid friend’s stupid problems and stupid dead boyfriend.

The guy himself now had his arm around his stupid friend and was rubbing his shoulder in whatever passed as soothing in the chaotic silly string jumble that was his stupid friend’s brain at the moment, and Sammy felt like he could breathe just a little bit better.

He kept expecting him to say something cosmetic and bandaid-ish like, “it’s ok,” or “everything is going to be fine,” but he didn’t. He just sat there and held him, and Sammy loved him for it. Because it wasn’t ok, and he really wasn’t sure anything would be fine ever again.


End file.
